The Lantern House
by salamandelbrot
Summary: Six wrestlers are trapped by inclement weather in a strange, isolated mansion. Set in May 1996. HHH/Waylon Mercy, Marty Jannetty/Leif Cassidy, past Marty Jannetty/Shawn Michaels.
1. Stormclouds

"You go," said Leif, nodding at the almost-full car. "I'll meet you at the hotel."

"No, babe, we-" Marty broke off, sneezing. Leif pulled a pack of tissues from his fanny pack and handed it over.

"Marty, come on, it's going to rain and you're getting sick already. I'll be fine, I promise." He threw an arm around his partner's shoulders and gave a reassuring squeeze.

"You sure you can find a ride?" Marty's voice was muffled by the tissue. He sneezed again.

"Positive."

"Come on, Marty, hop in. You can have tea waiting when Leif gets home," Henry coaxed.

"Okay," said Marty, stuffing the used and unused tissues in separate pockets. He hugged Leif tightly. "Be safe."

"I will," he said, pressing his cheek against Marty's. Then, to the rest of the car, "Thanks, fellas. This one's in no shape to be out in the elements."

"We'll make sure he buttons his raincoat," said Phineas, with a wink.

Little Jeff Hardy bit his lip. "You sure you don't want to swap with me, Leif?"

"Yeah, Jeff, I'm sure, thanks," said Leif, who was very sure indeed and hoped Matt would give his brother an earful about _that_ bright idea when they got to the motel. The kid was sweet as pie but if he was a day over sixteen, Leif was Miss Elizabeth. Jeff wandering off on his own to bum a ride wasn't a plan, it was the premise of an ostensibly cationary exploitation flick.

Matt cast Leif an exhausted, grateful look, and added, "You might try Scott Taylor, he had an open spot yesterday."

"Thanks." They said their goodbyes one more time and Leif waved as he watched the car pull away. Scott was a good guy. He and Leif had spent many an evening commiserating over their respective losses, before Leif had started tagging with Marty. It would be nice to catch up with him again.

* * *

Hunter Hearst Helmsley swept out of the out of the building on the arm of his companion, relishing the shocked stares they recieved. If anyone from his usual circles were to spot them, this little assignation would be the scandal of the season. All the society papers would be atwitter with speculation about what that Helmsley would get up to next. Here it would be relegated to crude locker room gossip, of course, but one must make do.

He spotted Mr. Perfect and smirked. Make a pass at this one, Perfect, seven feet of white trash rough trade would suit you.

They approached his car in silence and he felt a thrill of anticipation as his guest opened the passenger side door for him. Letting the man drive was the least of the risks he was taking tonight. Oh, Waylon Mercy had a certain southern charm about him, to be sure, but Hunter had seen what he did to people in the ring. The man was vicious; a mad, cracker Steven Regal.

"Thank you, Waylon," said Hunter, settling gracefully into the bucket seat.

"You're very welcome," replied Mercy with a warm smile, reaching across his lap to buckle the belt for him. "Comfortable?"

"Very." Hunter watched with interest as Mercy closed the door and made his way to the driver's side, stooping to fit his long frame into the car. "Will you need a map?" he asked.

"Oh, I know the way. Don't you worry about that, darling, you just sit tight and let old Waylon Mercy take care of you. Know what I mean?"

Hunter smiled. They didn't make them like this in Greenwich, that was for sure. Not this attentive or this dangerous.

* * *

Walking through the parking lot on his way to the secret, free parking lot behind the church across the street, Fatu threw a smile and a wave to the champion. They'd never been close, but Shawn was alright. Besides, Fatu liked seeing a fellow six foot one, former tag division guy making it big.

Shawn returned the smile dimly, looking distracted and more than a little lost. It struck Fatu that, champion or no, Shawn was short on friends lately.

Razor left. Diesel put him through an announce table and _then_ left. Ahmed was out injured, maybe for good this time for all anyone knew. Who _was_ Shawn riding with these days? Bret at least would have made sure Shawn got to the next town safe if he were here, but he wasn't, he was off on some cruise ship God knows where.

 _Aw, hell with it._

"Hey, Shawn, you got a ride?"

Fatu could see the relief behind the cocky grin as Shawn shot back, "I do if you've got a spot in your car."

"Yeah, come on."

Shawn sauntered over to join him, walking a little too close by Fatu's side for it to be accidental. He always had been a flirt. He looked lonely as hell. Fatu threw a friendly arm around his shoulders and steered him towards the car.

* * *

"Of course you can, where's Marty?"

"I made him go in the Godwins' car, I didn't want him waiting in the rain." Leif looked at him ruefully. "He has a cold."

He really was head over heels. Scott smiled, happy for Leif, hell, happy for Marty too, the guy deserved a lucky break after all he'd been through.

"Come on, it's just over here." He walked towards the car, Leif at his side. "So, do you have any idea where this next town is?"

"No clue, man." Leif shook his head. "You got a map?"

"Yeah, and-" They both stopped short as they came into view of the car. "And a good navigator," Scott finished, distracted.

Fatu and Shawn Michaels were leaning against the car, chatting amiably. And why not? They'd ridden with Yoko enough times after he split with Camp Cornette. Scott offered rides to his undercard buddies, Fatu offered rides to the old tag crowd, that was just what they did. And now, Leif Cassidy and the Heartbreak Kid were going to spend six hours together in their car. Fantastic.

* * *

Fatu drove with Shawn riding shotgun beside him. Leif would prefer to think that was Scott's spot that they were letting the arrogant main-eventer userp, but he suspected that Scott was the usual wheelman, sitting back here to keep an eye on poor, pitiful Leif Cassidy. It wasn't like he didn't see Scott's worried little glances, probably wondering how many times Marty had called him "Shawn" in bed.

The answer was once, at about 3:30 AM in a crummy motel off of I-80. Leif was up getting a glass of water when he heard Marty's sleepy mumble from the other room.

 _Come back to bed, Shawnie._

When Leif had come back from the bathroom Marty was sitting bolt upright in the dark.

 _It's okay,_ Leif had said. And it was okay. Marty'd been with his ex for almost seven years, for God's sake.

What wasn't okay was the stricken look on his Marty's face. _Oh god, Leif, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby._

 _Marty, I'm fine. It's okay,_ he'd said again. _No one_ I _loved ever put me through a window,_ he didn't add.

It was a miserable, silent car ride and neither the weather or the weird, unwelcoming swampland their route led them through did anything to brighten his mood. Fatu drove grimly as the rain came harder and the sky darkened, Scott occasionally leaning forward to pat him on the arm or mutter some thanks for driving.

"Oh _shit_!" The cry and the sudden stop jolted Leif out of his revirie. They were at a four way intersection, the first in miles, and the branch ahead, the one they wanted, was not so much a road as a river. "Pass me the map, Scotty."

Scott handed him the map. "Do you want me to take a turn?"

"Nah, I'm okay. Last thing we need is to get soaked switching places."

As an increasingly disconsolate Fatu pondered the map, another car pulled up behind them. Leif was no Sparkplug Holly, but he could tell the thing was fancy. With barely a pause, it signaled right, flashed its brights breifly, and passed them in a slow, graceful motion.

For the first time since their stiff introductions, Shawn spoke. "That's Helmsley's car."

"Yeah?" Fatu brightened. "You think he knows where he's going?"

"Yeah, probably. He probably found some swanky bed and breakfast to stay at."

"Okay." Fatu sighed and passed the map to Shawn. "Okay, I think we'd better follow him then, because I don't see how we're going to get anywhere tonight. There are a couple back roads we could try, but if this one's washed out..."

They agreed and Fatu turned right. It didn't take long for them to get in view of Hunter's lights, even with the limited visibility.

They followed the car for miles, Fatu occasionally asking Shawn to make a note on the map. "Right turn, unmarked, facing north now" or "road curved left, wanna say south west. Scotty, check my compass."

Eventually, they came to a clearing around huge, old mansion. Firelight flickered in the windows. Jesus, _this_ was where Hunter was staying? Was this some weird, jet-setter trend? Retro-gothic Amnityville chic?

Fatu pulled to a stop beside the other car, sighing as he turned off the engine.

"That was some fucking heroic driving, man," said Scott, throwing his arms around the seat in front of him and making Fatu smile for the first time in hours. Leif and Shawn both added their thanks.

To their left, a man far too tall to be Hunter stepped out of the driver's side. As he rounded the front of the car, Leif recognized Waylon Mercy.


	2. Rain

Hunter smiled and took Waylon's offered hand, stepping out of the car under the umbrella Waylon held for him. "Is this the place?"

"The very one. My aunt, may she rest in peace, always did keep the place up nice." Waylon looked at the lanterns in the windows. "By the look of thigs, I may have kin here yet."

Hunter turned a withering glance on the other car. "And what will your kin think of a car full of borderline vagabonds turning up unannounced on your doorstep?"

Waylon threw back his head and laughed. "Darling, nobody ever has called the Mercy family inhospitable. Well, I suppose my aunt wasn't strictly speaking a Mercy, nor are her people, but you know what I mean. They will be welcomed like lost cousins." He gave a merry wave to the car full of wrestlers and strolled up to the porch. Pressing close under the umbrella, Hunter followed him.

* * *

Fatu felt Scott's arms tighten around him as Mercy and Hunter approached the house. He reached up and gripped Scott's hand, hard. "Shit."

Mercy first knocked at the door, then, when nothing happened, he just opened it, as though he expected it to be unlocked all along. Hunter stepped in and Mercy followed, pausing to beckon to them with a welcoming smile.

"What the hell do we do now?" muttered Scott.

Leif looked at them, puzzled. "Not go in the creepy murder house? Sleep in the car like normal wrestlers?"

Scott barked laughter. "Leif, you think you're joking about the creepy murder house, but Waylon Mercy is a dangerous guy. I don't like this. This is a very fucking weird scenario."

Fatu twisted back to face him. "I don't like it either. Who the hell is keeping a million lanterns burning? And why? In case some fucking murderer wants to drop by and let himself in?"

Abruptly, Shawn unbuckled his seatbelt. "Look, I can see where you guys are going with this," he said, looking at Fatu and Scott. "If we're going to go all buddy system on Hunter and keep him out of trouble, I'm in. I hate sleeping in the fucking car, it kills my back and it's not any less creepy out here than it is in there."

Fatu didn't like the idea of Shawn going in there alone, but he knew Scotty didn't want to be anywhere near Waylon Mercy and like hell was he going to leave Scott's side. Surprising him, it was Leif who settled the matter. "I'll go in too. No one should go off alone."

Shawn nodded solemnly and Fatu let out a breath. "Okay. Okay, Scott and I will stay here with the getaway vehicle, in case you guys need to bail. Maybe everything's fine and you can get some sleep. If you have to grab Hunter and run, we'll drive to a corn field and figure it out in the morning."

* * *

Hunter surveyed the huge front room with curiousity and mild disdain. Lanterns peppered the windows and walls and there were doors leading off in seemingly every direction. The only piece of furniture was a lone rocking chair sitting in the center of the room.

"Ineresting decorating scheme your aunt had."

Waylon smiled. "She did have her fancies. Why, one time I had a couple days after a show at the Cow Palace, had a little time to enjoy some tourist arractions, you know what I mean? Had a chance to take a tour of that house the Widow Winchester built and I'll be goddamned if she didn't sound like my own auntie, may she rest in peace." Waylon leaned the closed umbrella against the wall and took Hunter's arm. "Would you like a tour?"

Hunter smiled up at him. "Will it be the same tour members of the public get? Or will it be special?"

"Well of course it'll be special, Hunter. There's no public tour here but if there was," he said with a chuckle, "they wouldn't get to see what I'm fixing to show you."

Hunter pulled him down for a kiss, thrilling at the feel of the man's big hands at his hips. "Show me."

With an arm around his waist, Waylon guided him through one of the many doors.

* * *

"Hello?" called Leif.

"Hunter? Waylon?" Even in their search, he and Shawn avoided talking to each other directly. In a way, he appreciated their accord on the matter.

A noise above them made them look up suddenly. Footsteps. Someone was on the second floor. Maybe Hunter or Waylon. Maybe whoever was keeping the lanterns lit. Without a word, the two of them walked to the nearest staircase.

Leif felt a growing uneasiness as they climbed. He found himself looking over his shoulder and, worse, he caught Shawn doing it too. Then, as then entered the empty hall, he heard it. The creak of the stairs behind them, as if someone were climbing very slowly and stealthily to avoid being heard.


	3. Lightning

Leif stood, frozen, as the footsteps ascended the stairs, waiting for whoever was stalking them to come into view. If it was Mercy, they would give him the fight of his life - a handicap match against the world's most unlikely tag team.

But even as the steps reached the head of the stairs, no one appeared. They were alone in the hall. Leif held his ground, resisting the gnawing urge to bolt.

Suddenly, the two lanterns at the end of the hall went dark at once, as though snuffed out, and the head of the stairway was plunged into darkness. At his side, Shawn flinched back, and it was the horrible confirmation that they were both very afraid that set Leif running. Shawn followed at his heels.

They fled up the flight of stairs at the other end of the hall, the footsteps once again pounding after them, lanterns extinguishing in their wake.

* * *

Hunter followed him through secret passages, up stairs and down hallways. It seemed like Waylon had a story for every room. Some of them, he told with Hunter on his arm like a proper gentleman. Others, with Hunter pushed up against a wall between the ever present lanterns.

He wouldn't be doing that in the room they entered now, Hunter thought, there was no space for it. Lanterns covered every inch of walls and ceiling in the tiny, windowless room. It produced an eerie, beautiful effect.

Waylon urged him forward with a gentle hand at the small of his back. "Why don't you go have a closer look, Hunter? Every one is a work of art."

Hunter approached the far wall slowly, feeling dazed and disoriented by the dancing lights. Then he heard the door shut behind him.

"Waylon?" Hunter spun around and saw, with a jolt of fear, that the door had no handle on this side. He pounded on it, felt for a grip on the edges. "Waylon, open the door!"

"Aw, I'm sorry." Waylon spoke lightly and Hunter could practically see him raising his hands, the way he did when apologizing to a ref for not breaking clean, all casual gentility. "There was no call for me to frighten you, darling, you just sit tight. They'll be along soon."

"Who?" His voice cracked, to his shame, and he kicked the door.

"Not who you're fretting about. My aunt, may she rest in peace, never has had patience for your common haints, you know what I mean?"

"Waylon, let me out this instant!" Recieving no response, Hunter threw himself against the door, but it didn't budge. "You bastard, open the door!" Nothing. He clawed at the edges of the door, frantically trying to catch hold of it. "How dare you? How _dare_ you?"

There was no reply. Hunter rested against the door, heart pounding, and looked at the endless lanterns.

* * *

Leif felt like they'd been running for hours. The winding halls of the mansion seemed to go on forever, leading to room after room, stair after stair. Sometimes the lanterns in front of them would snuff out, or a door would slam, forcing them to change their course.

Leif looked wildly around the latest hall. It long and narrow, empty except for a long, dusty rug, the lanterns lining the walls, and a ladder leading up to a trap door. There were no other doors or windows, just a stair at each end leading down.

As they reached the ladder, the lanterns at both stairs flickered and died. Leif heard Shawn give a strangled little moan beside him and scrambled for the ladder.

* * *

It was the thunder that woke Fatu. The wind and rain were alarmingly loud as he forced his sleepy mind to take stock of the situation. A car wasn't a terrible place to be during a thunderstorm and there weren't any trees around to fall on them. He hadn't noticed whether or not the house had a lightning rod, but the place was old and it apparently hadn't burned down yet. They were fine.

Curious, he waited for lightning. He didn't have to wait long. Catching a brief glance at Scotty's sleeping face, he barely had time to count to one before the thunder rumbled again. God, what a storm.

As lightning branched across the sky once more, he saw Waylon Mercy, standing perfectly still in front of their car, staring. He was holding a sledgehammer.

Fatu checked the door lock with one hand and reached out to shake Scott's shoulder with the other. "Scotty, wake up. Is your door locked?"

Fatu was already starting the engine as Scott leaned away to check. "Yeah. What is it?"

"Waylon Mercy's about twenty yards in front of our car. He's just standing there, but he has a sledgehammer."

"Jesus." Lightning flashed again. "Oh, Jesus, what the fuck? What do we do?"

"I don't know." Fatu swallowed. "I think he's closer. I didn't see him move, but I think-" Thunder cut him off.

Shawn, Leif, and Hunter were still in the house, but that didn't mean they shouldn't drive off right now and get the fucking cops.

Of course, if they knew where to find help, they wouldn't be here in the first place. Fatu had seen the country around them on the way in, there were no neighbors, no gas stations, no pay phones, and in the dark, in this weather, with god knew which roads washed out, they had no chance of finding any.

Fatu released the parking break and put the car in gear.

Then there was the second car. Hell, they'd _followed_ Mercy here, he clearly knew the area better than they did. Even if they managed to drive a few miles before they got stuck in the mud, that wouldn't even guarantee them a good enough head start to run until morning.

As though they were sharing one train of thought, Scotty gave trembling voice to his own, terrible conclusion. "Hit him."

Another illuminating flash. Mercy was definitely closer this time, no mistaking it.

"Yeah." He floored the gas pedal and waited for the impact.

* * *

Before Leif could set foot on the first rung, Shawn grabbed his arm and yanked him back. "It's treeing us!" Shawn looked between Leif and the darkened stair in front of them with wild eyes. "We have to risk the stairs."

As if in answer, another set of lanterns extinguished at each end of the hall. "We have to," Shawn almost whispered, still clinging to Leif's arm.

A slow movement began in the darkness at the end of the hall. It was the rug, bulging as though something under it were raising up, creeping forwards. Leif wrenched his arm free of Shawn's grasp and climbed for all he was worth. The trap door was stuck.

He pounded a fist on it in frustration and it was as though the walls were crowded with the house's victims, all pounding back at him. Desperate, Leif stepped two rungs higher and braced his shoudler against the trap door, pushing with all his might. It gave. So did the ladder.

It was Shawn who kept him from a very bad landing, only half catching him but breaking his fall well enough. The shapes under the carpet were drawing closer, approaching with the darkness, even as the frantic pounding from the walls continued.

"Come on!" Leif yelled. "Give me a boost!" Ashen faced and shaking, Shawn complied.

Leif caught the edge of the hole with his fingers. It hurt, felt like he got about a million splinters, but that didn't even slow him down. He hauled himself up and scrambled into the attic.

Even as he lay, panting, on the floor, he knew something had changed now that he'd reached the attic. Some task had been completed. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, looking down at the hole. He felt different up here, looking down.

"Are you okay?"

Shawn's voice cracked. Leif knew Shawn wasn't really asking if he was okay, he was begging Leif to reach down and pull him up, to get him out of that terrible hallway before whatever it was could reach him.

"Fine," he called down absently.

Leif looked around the attic. The light from the hall lanterns didn't make it far, all he could see was a small ring of dusty floor around the trap door and the dim suggestion of shapes farther away. The pounding from below stopped abruptly and he could hear Shawn's ragged breathing.

"Hurry up, man, give me a hand!"

Leif heard the footsteps again, pounding up both sets of stairs at a furious pace. He was afraid, but not like before. He was up here, now. Shawn was the one in the hall.

"Please, Leif, come on! Please!"

"You broke his heart."

"What?" Shawn looked up at him in confusion. Leif could see the shine of fear-tears ready to fall.

A heartbeat later, Leif could see that Shawn understood. It didn't make him hesitate as he reached out to grab the trap door.


	4. Thunder

All Leif could see was the faint line of light around the edges of the trap door. He could hear sounds from the hallway below, but they were muffled by the insulation and masked by the wind and rain. He thought Shawn might be screaming, but he couldn't be sure.

When the noises finally stopped, Leif scrambled to his feat. Heart pounding like he'd just wrestled a twenty minute match, he waited for the thump or the claws or the slow, deliberate push at the trap door.

They didn't come. Instead, he heard the slow, irregular passage of some shambling thing down the hallway and, finally, the stairs. He was alone. Alone. God, what had he done? It was too late to take it back now. He could never tell Marty. He could never tell anyone.

A flash of lightning illuminated the attic and for a split second Leif saw the bare rafters and the shapes of furniture under dusty sheets. Saw the figure standing by the window.

Horror gripped him and, quick as thinking, Leif pivoted, kicking back. As his foot connected with the witness's jaw he felt something give. He heard the crash of the body against the window as somehow, impossibly, something - the head, he knew it was the head - bounced back and hit him in the chest.

He caught it instinctively even as his mind recoiled. A second lightling flash illuminated the object in his hands.

Clutching the mannequin head to his chest, Leif Cassidy began to laugh.

* * *

It was impossible to judge the passage of time in the bright room but, after he had given up on the door and spent some while sitting and watching the light dance, Hunter knew he wasn't alone. The room was here too, and the lanterns. He watched them, resentment almost eclipsing his terror of the entity and the malevolent will that was having everything its own way.

In a fit of petulance, Hunter sprang to his feet and snatched a lantern from the wall. He meant to throw it on the ground, let them all burn together, if he was going to die it would be of his own spite, by God, and according to no one else's plan. But as he raised the lantern above his head, he saw the others flickering, as if in a frenzy.

"Don't like that, do you? Open the door then. Go on." He curled his lip and tried to mask his pounding heart with haughtiness. "It was a mistake, trying to scare me. Now, I'm just as afraid of you as I am of burning to death and, you know what?" He paused, watching shadows cast by the flaring and flickering lights with petty satisfaction. "I _hate_ you more."

With a rush of air, the door slammed open.

* * *

Scott could hear Fatu crying and he reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "It's not your fault. None of this fucking mess is your fault," he said and, god, he meant it. Fatu was the best person he knew.

He felt Fatu's hand cover his. "It's not yours either. God, this is so fucked." Rain dripped through the cracks in the windshield. Blood too, probably. "I don't think I can stay here, Scotty."

"No, me neither. Let's go find the others." Reluctantly letting go of Fatu, Scott opened the door and stepped into the storm, shivering. He turned to watch Fatu doing the same and, by the glow of the interior lights, he saw the dead man on their windshield move.

"Oh Christ," he heard Fatu moan from the driver's side. "Scotty, he's alive."

He met Fatu's eyes and didn't have to ask. Mercy was incapacitated. In this weather, exposure would finish him long before morning came.

Sighing, Scott said, "I'll take his feet."

* * *

Shawn sat, huddled in the light of the last burning lantern in the hall, and waited. He was afraid, but it wasn't the fear that kept him from running so much as a bleak, exhausted defiance. He was tired of fighting. The house would do whatever it wanted with him, that much was clear, and he didn't have to help it.

 _You broke his heart._

He was tired of playing its stupid, pointless game. Those bulges in the carpet would reach him soon and he didn't know what would happen. Maybe he would be fine, maybe the house couldn't do anything but scare him. Maybe whatever happened to him would _look_ like a heart attack when they found his body. If he was lucky, maybe it even would be.

They crept closer, growing, spreading into new shapes. Trying to make him bolt. Shawn shuddered and hugged his knees.

"Fuck you," he said, voice coming out in a whisper. "You can't tell me what to do."

The pounding from the walls quieted and a new, purposefull pounding started up. The footsteps on the stairs again, coming for him at a furious pace. This was it.

From the darkness of the hall, he saw the flickering light of a lantern. The carpet sank back to the floor, deflated, as if whatever was under it was cringing away from the approaching light.

Then he heard the voice. "I will burn this filthy fucking rat hole to the ground, so help me God!" Hunter was illuminated in gold, waving the lantern in his hand and sneering at the house itself. He was resplendent. "Shawn?"

He hurried to Shawn's side and offered him an arm. Shawn took it gratefully, half collapsing against Hunter once he got to his feet. He felt terrible, like he'd been wrestling a tough match with a high fever, like sitting in this hallway had done something to him.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here." Hunter slung Shawn's arm around his shoulders and prepared to walk him down the hall, away from the pile of scrap wood that used to be a ladder.

 _You broke his heart._

"Wait, we- Cassidy's up in the fucking trap door, I don't-" He wasn't going up there for Leif, couldn't, didn't want Hunter to, didn't want to wait, didn't know what to do and didn't think he could figure it out like this. His balance went again and he clung to Hunter to keep himself from falling.

"Cassidy! We're making a break for it, you coming?" Hunter called. He waited a moment, then added, "It doesn't like fire!" He pulled Shawn closer, hiking him up to take more of his weight. "Come on," he muttered, "that's all we can do."

Together, they made their way towards the first set of stairs.

* * *

They heaved the big man onto the rocking chair and stepped away quickly. Fatu adjusted his grip on the sledgehammer. He'd brought it with him, just in case.

Shivering, he looked at the gently rocking chair. Just in case he needed to bash a man's head in. He reached out with his free hand and Scott caught it in his.

"We'll wait for the others. Take Hunter's car and get the cops. It'll be okay," he said, gripping probably too hard. Scotty didn't seem to mind.

They didn't have to wait long to hear stumbling footsteps on the stairs to their left. Before long Hunter emerged from the dark, lantern in hand, half carrying Shawn.

"Jesus, what happened?" cried Scotty.

Hunter didn't even slow down to answer, "I don't know. We need to leave."

"Where's Leif?"

"I don't fucking know! Shawn said he was in the attic, but he wouldn't come out. We need to leave." Hunter seemed to spot Mercy for the first time and his face twisted. "Without _him_." He spat in the direction of the chair, then turned his attention back to Shawn, who was slumping perilously low and starting to slide out of his grip.

Snapping out of his stunned daze, Fatu hurried to them, getting a shoulder under Shawn's other arm. "Hey, you with us, Shawn?"

"Yeah," Shawn mumbled. "Sure."

Fatu shared a glance with Hunter over his head. He'd never seen the Conneticuit Blue Blood look so concerned for anyone before. "Uh-huh. You wanna give me a title shot?"

Shawn snorted. "Suck my dick."

Hunter gave a relieved little laugh into Shawn's hair. "Come on. We're going to be okay."

As the words left his lips, the lantern in his other hand went out with a pop.

* * *

Hunter saw Scott Taylor sprint towards the main door the moment the flame went out. It was quick thinking, he realized, these men weren't stupid, but no one could move fast enough to pull it off. The door slammed shut just as Scott plowed into it shoulder first. It didn't so much as shake, but Taylor went down in a crumpled, cursing heap.

Hunter threw the useless lantern to the ground and shifted Shawn into Fatu's arms. "Hold him." He snatched the hammer from Fatu's lax grip.

The lights snuffed out before he reached the window. He took a few, shuffling steps forward, but it felt like he was moving through clay. This was it. They'd made a good try of it, but this was the end.

Hunter could hear Scott panting in pain, Fatu murmuring someting comforting with a shaking voice, and an awful, wounded whine that he would never have recognized without the process of elimination.

Screaming, he swung the sledgehammer with all of his strength.

* * *

Scott heard the glass shatter and struggled to his feet. His shoulder hurt like hell, but he'd worry about the damage later. Right now they had a chance.

"Fatu?" he called, staggering towards the window. He could barely hear his own voice over the howl of wind through the wound Hunter had opened in the house.

"I'm coming! We're coming!"

Scott collided painfully with Hunter. "Go on!" yelled Hunter. "I'll give you a boost!"

If nothing else, he thought as he braced a foot on Hunter's hands and prepared to jump through the broken window, next time they went to Philly he'd have a war story to show up those local boys with.

He jumped. He could feel a piece of glass slice a big line on his the outside of his thigh, but it didn't hurt as much as landing. His shoulder was well and truly fucked.

He crawled to the edge of the porch. Maybe he'd manage to stand maybe not, but at least he'd be out of the way.

After what felt like forever, he heard the thump of boots on the porch. "Scotty?"

"I'm okay," he called back. He could have cried with relief. Fatu was out.

"I've got him," he heard Fatu yell. Then, "Come on, Shawn, there you go, we're going home."

Lightning flashed and he saw Hunter, sledgehammer still in hand, diving through the window.

"Here," he heard Fatu saying, "I'll get Scotty," and a moment later Fatu's gentle hands were on his ribs, helping him to his feet. "I got you. I got you."

"I'm fine," he said, meaning it more this time. "It's just this fucking shoulder."

They staggered off the porch hand in one-good-hand, feeling in the dark for Hunter's car. The storm still raged, but it didn't seem half so loud once they got away from that damned house.

"Here," Hunter called, "it's over here!" There was enough light to see him now, leaning against the car with Shawn in his arms. The lanterns in the remaining windows were re-lighting.

As they approached, Hunter handed his keys to Fatu. "You drive. I- you drive."

Fatu accepted them without a word, shaking. "Hey," said Scott, "is it standard or automatic?"

"Automatic." Hunter didn't even glance at him, fully absorbed in helping a sluggish Shawn into the back seat.

"I can drive," he said, squeezing Fatu's hand.

"Scotty, are you sure? I know you're hurting."

"I can drive," he repeated. Fatu hugged him carefully, pressing their cheeks together and whispering thanks in his ear.

"Start it up, I'll get the map," Fatu said aloud.

By the time he came back with the map, their compass, and the championship belt, Hunter and Shawn were safely in the back seat and Scott had the engine running. Fatu climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door.

"Let's go."

* * *

They started by retracing their steps. Fatu gave Scotty directions while, in the back seat, Hunter tried to keep Shawn awake and talking. It felt like hours before they made it back to the washed out road that started it all.

"What's the plan now?" asked Scott. Fatu could hear the strain in his voice.

"I think our best bet is to get to the nearest interstate. Then we can find a motel or a gas station, somewhere with a phone. Go straight here."

The route he led them on stuck to bigger roads and, as he'd hoped, none of them were washed out or blocked by fallen trees. When they came to an entrance ramp, they cheered. The mood didn't last, but Fatu felt the atmosphere of fear in the car lighten once they were on the freeway.

It was another twenty miles until they saw a motel, a big, lit-up sign proclaiming its brand proudly. Fatu wouldn't want to admit it, but he was absurdly relived it belonged to a national chain. The last thing they needed was to check in with Norman Bates tonight.

Hunter booked a double room with one of his fancy credit cards. He could have booked the whole place, Fatu was pretty sure, but none of them wanted to spit up again tonight.

When they got to the room, Fatu helped Scott out of his wet jacket, then turned to the telephone and dialed from memory.

"President Monsoon, this is Fatu." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Hunter looking on in shock from the other bed. Sometimes he forgot how new Hunter was. It didn't matter how bad things got, you called promoters first, then the cops.

"Fatu, thank god. Are you alright, son? Who's with you? We've got six missing wrestlers here."

"I'm okay. Scott Taylor, Hunter Hearst Helmsley, and Shawn Micheals are with me. Leif Cassidy is missing, Waylon Mercy is - he's hurt. He was trying to hurt us. We had to leave them. I don't have the address but I can tell you how we got there, I made notes on our map."

"Easy," cajoled President Monsoon. "Slow down. Do any of you need medical attention?"

"Scotty's shoulder's out and Shawn's concussed to fuck, I think, I don't know what happened."

"Alright. You'll call the hospital. Do you need to call the police? About this thing with Waylon?"

"Yeah."

Gorilla's voice was steady and calming. "Then you do that too. Where are you boys now? I'll send some people."

"We're at, uh-" he didn't have to ask before Scotty handed him a pad of hotel paper. He read the address off the letterhead.

"You hold tight and someone will be there soon. Leave a message at the desk with what hospital you're headed to so we can find you."

Fatu sighed in relief. Gorilla was the kind of president you could be glad to call up in a crisis. "Okay. Thanks."

"Remind me what you're going to do, so I know you're not in shock."

"Call the cops. Call the hospital. Leave a message at the front desk so you can find us."

"You're a tough kid, Fatu. Just like your uncle." Gorilla's fond tone was reassuring.

"Thank you." He leaned back against the headboard. "I'll call if anything else happens." After prefunctory goodbyes, he hung up the phone. They were going to be okay, but he had more calls to make first.

* * *

Gorilla Monsoon set his cheaters down and pressed a hand to his eyes. In all his years of professional wrestling, this had to be the wildest story he'd come upon. Ghosts aside, the reports of the four wrestlers who'd driven out in Helmsley's car suggested that they ought to find two men in the house. The first was Leif Cassidy, possibly holed up in the attic, if you believed Hunter, or dead up there, if you belived Shawn. Personally, in this one particular instance he belived Hunter. Shawn didn't remember taking a blow to the head, but it was pretty clear that he had, and a bad one too. The kid had had enough of those in the past year and a half that Gorilla sure wasn't going to blame him for being a little loopy this time.

The other missing party was Waylon Mercy, who all agreed would be in or near a rocking chair in the first entry room, badly injured. Maybe bled out.

The police had found Leif alright, up in the attic, curled up around a mannequin head like it was a teddy bear. He was in bad shape.

But they found no trace of Waylon Mercy. There was no blood on the old rocking chair in the front room. Only dust.


End file.
